But what sentiment
predominated in that, it would be difficult to say. Blended with rejoicing
over their King's safety, were cries of bitter disappointment, the cries of
thirsty men who have seen wine dashed from their lips.
In their retreat, the two Northern jarls and the young monarch's foster-father
faced each other uncertainly. "Here is mystery!" Eric of Norway said at last.
"I should be thankful if you would tell me whether he thought it unwise to
kill the Englishman before the face of his army; or whether he is in truth
struck with love toward him, as the fools seem to believe?"
"Or whether he had reached the exact limit of his strength so that he was
obliged to save himself by some trick of words?" Ulf Jarl suggested.
The Tall One shook his head slowly. "Now, as always, it is he alone who can
altogether explain his actions. It might easily be that in his mad impatience
he overvalued his strength, so that he was obliged to stop short to keep
within bounds. But I think you will find that there is still some trick which
is not open to our sight. His man-wit is deepening very fast; I will not be so
bold as to say that I can always fathom it."
"Perhaps he thinks a short peace would be useful to the host," the Norwegian
said, and laughed. "Such a truce is as comfortable as a cloak when the weather
is stark, and as easy to get rid of when the sun comes out.
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